


a language of carnality

by bonebo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Belting, Boot Worship, Dom/sub, Humiliation, M/M, Scion Hanzo, Spanking, Verbal Abuse, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 01:43:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14274213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: “Just when I start thinking that you’ve sunken as low as you can, that you can’t bring any more dishonor to our name…” Hanzo stops in front of Genji, running a scrutinous gaze over his little brother’s face and curling his lip in distaste at the pink gloss smeared over his swollen lips, the smudged kohl lining his downcast eyes, the kiss marks left on his flushed cheeks. “You find yet another way to disappoint me.”





	a language of carnality

“Sometimes, I find myself wondering just how you do it.” Hanzo’s voice is low, a growl made of black velvet; the click of his dress shoes on the tile floor is slow and deliberate as he paces around Genji, his head held high, eyes narrowed. 

He looks like a predator--dressed to kill in a pinstripe suit and pressed slacks, his white sleeves rolled up to gather around the thick muscle of his forearms, his big hands wrapped in black leather gloves. Standing in the middle of their late father’s office--Hanzo’s office, now; the _oyabun’s_ office--and still in his racy clubwear, goosebumps prickling along the bare skin of his thighs and midriff, Genji can’t help the shudder that races down his spine. 

“Just when I start thinking that you’ve sunken as low as you can, that you can’t bring any more dishonor to our name…” Hanzo stops in front of Genji, running a scrutinous gaze over his little brother’s face and curling his lip in distaste at the pink gloss smeared over his swollen lips, the smudged kohl lining his downcast eyes, the kiss marks left on his flushed cheeks. “You find yet another way to disappoint me.”

Genji’s gaze darts up, hesitant and meek. “I’m sor--”

The sharp crack of Hanzo’s slap stops the apology cold. 

“I don’t want to hear it.” Hanzo points at his desk, then starts to unbuckle his belt, pulling it free of the loops of his slacks. “Bend over the desk.”

Genji stares at him, his confusion evident in the worried lines on his face. “...anija?”

“I said, bend over the desk.” Hanzo doubles the belt over and gives it a crack, and the pop of the leather on itself is enough to get Genji moving. “If you insist on acting like a child, I will punish you like one.”

With dread making his belly cold, Genji obeys; he bends over Hanzo’s desk and bows his head between his shoulders, his hands splayed out on the mahogany. He can hear the tap of Hanzo’s shoes as he comes up close behind him, can almost feel the burning gaze of his brother assessing him; and then Hanzo’s hands are on him, grabbing the bottom of his cut-off denim shorts and yanking the fabric up between the cheeks of his ass to bare what scant skin had been covered in the first place, and the humiliation of being exposed in such a way has tears burning in Genji’s eyes. 

“Disgusting.” Hanzo’s voice is sharp--nearly as sharp as the first crack of his belt on Genji’s ass, the blow making the younger Shimada yelp and dig his fingers into the desk as he lurches forward. “You stink of sex. Of a body used. How many of them fucked you?”

Genji closes his eyes, the shame clawing up his throat, keeping the answer locked away behind the cage of his teeth; but then Hanzo’s belt swings again, connecting with the tender skin right at the top of Genji’s thighs, and he howls.

“Four!”

“Nasty whore.” Again the belt cracks through the air and Genji’s cry is raw, his back arching sharply as Hanzo strikes him over and over, lighting up his ass and thighs and turning his milky skin a bright, painful red. “Out fucking your way through the city, leaving me to handle all of the work, all of the responsibility of running the clan.” His snarl is the only thing that cuts through the pain of the belting, the only thing Genji can focus on besides the bright swathes of hurt along his lower body. “Did you know there was a meeting today with our newest arms dealer?” 

The blows stop, just long enough for Genji to catch his breath; and when the next hit comes, it forces out of him a choked, “Y-yes, anija!”

“So you knew, but didn’t show--you just don’t care, then.” Hanzo brings the belt down especially hard right over the meat of Genji’s ass, watching the strap wrap around him entirely on the swing and leave behind a rising pink welt. “Is that it? You don’t care about anything except the next cock you can suck?”

“N-no, anija, I…” Genji’s voice breaks on another howl, his fingers turning to claws on the desk as his head drops low, the beaten muscles of his thighs and ass seizing up under his hot red skin. “Anija! Please!”

“And now you want my mercy, though you have done nothing to earn it.” Hanzo scoffs and lets the belt hang loose in his hand, by his side as he takes a step back to admire his work. Genji stays exactly where he is, bent over and clinging to the desk, his shoulders hitching with soft, quiet sobs; he flinches when Hanzo runs his fingers over the abused skin, and earns himself a sharp swat from Hanzo’s gloved palm that has him crying anew.

“Pathetic,” Hanzo sneers, grabbing a fistful of Genji’s hair and wrenching him backward, watching him stagger on his feet before he yields to the force pushing him down. He hits his knees hard on the wooden floor, and when Hanzo forces his head up, he finds his brother’s eyes to be watery and red-rimmed, the kohl streaked in lines down his cheeks from his tears. His tank top is askew--the pink scripted Baby Slut caption no longer squarely across his chest--and his shorts, yanked up as they are, might as well not even exist for how little skin they show. 

There are bruises shaped like fingers on Genji’s thighs; words scrawled there, tallies. Prices. Hanzo clenches his jaw.

“You kneel before me dressed like a whore, stinking like a whore, and looking like--take a guess--a beaten-up _whore_ , after a night spent whoring your way through Hanamura,” he starts, his voice cold as ice, steely like his narrowed eyes. “It would seem to me, Genji, that the only language you understand is a carnal one.”

He leans down just enough to be heard when he whispers, “Luckily for you, that’s a language I can speak, too.”

Hanzo lets go of Genji’s hair just to slap him hard across the cheek, making his head snap to the side. “If you want my mercy,” he hisses, “then you will earn it by satisfying your oyabun. Am I understood?”

Genji swallows thickly, his eyes bright with fresh tears. “Y-yes, anija.”

“Good.” Hanzo sticks one foot out pointedly, bringing the dress shoe down mere inches from Genji’s leg. “You will start here, where you belong. Now lick.”

For a moment Genji is rooted to the spot, frozen still; he can see that Hanzo’s shoe shines in most places, the fine leather oiled and polished to a sharp sheen, but there are spots that are duller, blotches of discoloration. Above him Hanzo grabs for the belt with an impatient noise, and Genji lurches forward, touching his tongue to one of the spots and grimacing at the taste of stale copper that rushes into his mouth--he starts to jerk away on instinct, and is stopped immediately by the growl from above.

“Keep going.” Hanzo’s voice is as sharp as his katana, and just as deadly. He sinks down into his chair, leaving his feet out for Genji to attend to. “I will tell you when you may move on.”

So Genji spends the next fifteen minutes of his life on his knees in Hanzo’s office, bent over and quietly licking his brother’s shoes clean; by the time Hanzo pulls his foot away, his signal to finish, Genji’s jaw aches with every beat of his heart and his tongue feels scraped raw.

“Up.” Hanzo doesn’t even look away form the datapad he holds in his hand when he gives the command; and when Genji’s gaze trails upward, he finds his brother’s cock out, already pulled over the hem of his slacks. It stands tall and flushed even though he’s not fully hard, and Genji swallows as he stares at it, his belly churning with nerves.

“...anija?”

“I said, up. Sit on my dick.” Hanzo’s gaze cuts to him, eyes narrowed and cold. “If you need a dick in your ass to listen to orders and do what you’re told, then mine will suffice.” His lip curls in a sneer. “Unless, of course, you’re too good for your big brother’s cock?”

“N-no,” Genji whispers, swallowing back the rest of his answer; he knows better than to waste this chance to get back into Hanzo’s good graces. “Of course not, anija.”

“Good. Then take off those ridiculous clothes and get up here.”

Genji doesn’t dare to ask for any kind of prep, for lube or patience--he knows that such a request would surely only end in more mockery, in Hanzo’s scathing tone, _“What, you don’t think you’re fucked out enough already?”_ With shaking hands he unbuttons the shorts and shimmies out of them, grimacing at the feeling of the cum and lube dried into the denim pulling away from his skin. 

Hanzo has enough mercy to spit into his hand and rub it down the length of his cock, and he grabs for Genji’s hips, pulling him down with little ceremony; Genji is left to scramble for balance to avoid impaling himself on the length, and has to arch up onto his toes in an attempt to control the pace, to at least give himself some kind of a slow stretch and save spearing himself open in a rush. Even with all the fucking he’s had, with the old lube still slicking the way, it hurts--but Genji just grits his teeth and endures, drops his head forward and digs his nails into Hanzo’s slacks as he’s bounced in his brother’s lap.

“Is this what it will take to get you to listen to me?” Hanzo growls, one gloved hand grabbing a fistful of Genji’s hair and jerking his head back, making the tears in Genji’s eyes streak down his pink cheeks. “Does it take a cock in your ass to get you to pay attention?”

Genji tries to reply--tries to choke and blubber out some kind of response, something that can pacify his brother--but as soon as he makes a noise, he’s being tilted forward, grabbed by the waist and pulled into each powerful roll of Hanzo’s hips.

“If this is what it takes,” Hanzo hisses, over the sound of his brutal fucking, over each gasp he forces past Genji’s lips, “then this is what I will do. I will take you over my knee with my belt to your ass every morning, and fuck you stupid every night. I will chain you to this goddamn desk until you prove to me that you can be more than a communal toilet.” He thrusts in as hard as he can, making Genji yelp at the pain against his tender ass, and holds it, buried up to the hilt inside him. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Genji whispers, tears clinging to his lashes as his eyes flutter closed. “Yes, anija.”

He swallows down his next cry, and lets his head drop as Hanzo’s thrusts resume--just as sharp and punishing as before. 

“Yes...my oyabun.”


End file.
